<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>antecedent by neveroffanon</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131894">antecedent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveroffanon/pseuds/neveroffanon'>neveroffanon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hopes and dreams [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on the flashbacks Malcolm has had about the camping trip, Gen, Young Malcolm, neither does john, really has no idea what his father’s actually like</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:26:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveroffanon/pseuds/neveroffanon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Malcolm go camping with a friend of the family.  Things don’t seem to go quite according to plan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright &amp; Paul Lazar | John Watkins, Paul Lazar | John Watkins &amp; Martin Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hopes and dreams [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>antecedent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John Watkins, or Paul Lazar, or Noah, or half a hundred other names.  Sometimes he nearly forgot which name he was wearing of a day.  Whose righteousness he was borrowing for a little while, whose will and strength made it so he could deliver the judgment.  Carry out the sentence.  Find more sinners and begin it all over again. </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>Martin had talked of nothing else the whole trip, but all the fish he and his son would catch, the carving with the new knife he’d teach the boy how to do, the traps they’d set.  Their voices droned and buzzed until John had burned with impatience.  Just behind them sat a sinner, another soul in need of salvation, and all the two of them could do was talk about some book.  He sighed, rolling his shoulders.  They were only thirty minutes out from the cabin, and then Martin would show him how fulfill his mission with his own two hands.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the road change.  Asphalt gave way to gravel, gave way to dry leaves and dirt.  The brakes squealed and the car bumped to a halt, the one in the trunk sliding and bumping into the rear seats, with a dull thud.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Can I ask a question?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John peeled his eyes open and turned to see that the kid had already pulled off his seatbelt and was kneeling on the seat, peering into the cargo area.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What is this?  It’s really heavy.”  The boy reached a hand toward the blanket, and John lunged, pinching the boy’s arm at the elbow.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ow!  Let go!”  Malcolm pulled away, twisting until his arm popped free of John’s grasp.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Alright you two.  Let’s play nice, yeah Malcolm?  Your dear old dad didn’t take a break from work just to play peacemaker on his vacation.”  Martin turned the car off and cast a look at John.  “He’s curious, my boy.  The more you make it look mysterious, the more he wants to know,” Martin smiled, white teeth blindingly bright.  John shrugged a little, jaw tight, and turned to get out of the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The brat was more than curious.  He was disobedient.  If Malcolm had been his son, he’d of been in the closet for day, even two, until the disrespect stopped.  It didn’t matter though.  The backtalk would stop soon enough.  Little Malcolm was the youngest of those he’d ever been guided to save, but the boy needed it more than all the rest combined.  Martin saw that, but he was soft, the way his own grandma had got soft a few times and fed him through the slats even when he hadn’t repented yet.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Let’s grab our gear and go in, Malcolm.  We’ve got a lot to do before we settle down.”</p>
</div><div>
  <hr/>
</div><div>
  <p>“I thought you wanted your son to see this.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>John stared down at the body spread-eagled on the forest floor.  It was almost gone.  He could feel the sun on his right shoulder, the warmth kissing him through his jacket, like a word whispered in his ear.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Soon enough, my friend,” Martin replied, as though he could hear his thoughts, bending down to wipe his hands on a cloth.  John watched him tuck away the cloth and pick up the flask at his feet.  “Thirsty John?  Your turn is coming next.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>John watched him for a moment.  “You can’t change your mind on me again, Whitly.  He’s too much trouble, your son.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Martin shook his head, and twisted the cap off the flask.  “I’m not changing my mind.  My son is a troublemaker.  There we certainly agree.  And since I’m having some trouble, you’ll help me.  What more could a man want in a friend?”  He poured as he spoke and thrust the cap at him until John took it.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He nursed the coffee, sipping, and turned back to watch the sinner breathe its last.  Gurgling, bubbling froth spilled out from where its mouth had been.  Then it stilled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Dad?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>From behind them, the boy’s voice rose and choked itself into silence.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John grinned, threw back the rest of the coffee, and dropped the cap to the ground.  He swung around.  Then he staggered.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Everything swirled; the boy’s face was a smear of white.  John shook his head, blinking hard.  He took a lumbering step toward the boy, his back clammy with sweat.  He flung out an arm and lunged hard, fighting the darkness clouding his sight.  The boy’s shoulder came under his hand, and John squeezed hard.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Let go of me!  Dad!  Dad!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You little animal,” snarling the words, John made to pull the boy closer.  He’d come all this way to save the little bastard, but neither the kid’s father nor the kid himself could bring themselves to submit to the judgment.  He’d snap the kids neck quick and then deal with Martin.  The boy dug in his heels, screaming, his face still a blur.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, come on boy,” Martin’s voice sounded suddenly, like gravel being crushed under a car.  “Are you going to use your head or not?  This man wants to kill you.  What are you going to do about it?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John dug his fingers into the boy’s shoulder and neck, about to fling them both around so that Martin could see his son die.  See what would happen to him next.  See what happened when the judgement was denied.  Instead, the boy swung at him, and fire lanced through his flank.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He howled, hand dropping from the boy’s shoulder.  The fire danced, turned a sickening corkscrew inside of him and left.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John dropped to his knees, hands cramping over the gash in his side, mouth hanging wide pulling in air.  The boy backed away, turned, and ran.  John stared after him, heart pounding in his chest, eyes squinting against the darkness.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh that looks terrible.”  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What’d you give me?!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Just something to even the field a little.  He’s only 10, my boy,” Martin, appearing out of the hazy darkness knelt beside him.  “It’s his first time, but just look at what a good job he did,” fingers splayed across his side, pressing into the wound.  John bit down on a whimper, barely hearing Martin speak, “You might die of blood loss if you don’t do something about this John.”  Martin pressed a hand to his shoulder and stood, as John wheezed beneath him with the pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You said, we’d—,” John slumped over, trying to speak past the outrage.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I said you were right about Malcolm needing a trial of his own, yes, yes.  I did say that.  And you were it, John.  You were his trial.  He passed with flying colors.  I guess I should say thank you.”  He moved off, leaves and branches crunching under his feet.  “I’ll be back in a while John.  You just stay right there, yeah.  Have to go catch my boy before he runs too far.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John closed his eyes.  Even if he hadn’t been bleeding out, whatever Martin had drugged him with was bringing him low.  But when he woke up— the mission wasn’t over, so he knew that he would wake— then he’d find a way to bring them both to judgement.  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don’t quite trust the flashbacks we’ve seen of the camping trip so far, and I definitely don’t believe that Martin was at all worried about Malcolm learning too much/being a problem/the chloroform wearing off.  So this here is my take on why Martin really brought John along on the camping trip.  Comments welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>